


Enough of This “‘Til Death Do We Part” Bullshit

by rudigersmooch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alien Culture, Canon Temporary Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Soulbond marriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudigersmooch/pseuds/rudigersmooch
Summary: They get married, and then Phil dies. He comes back, they get re-married, and then Fury dies. When Fury comes back, they get re-married again. Then the Snap happens.At some point, every couple has to start thinking about longterm solutions.





	Enough of This “‘Til Death Do We Part” Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phnelt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phnelt/gifts).



> This fic blissfully ignores everything about Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. except Coulson's return to the land of the living, and it assumes that both Coulson and Fury were Snapped. I hope you enjoy it!

People had spent years telling Fury that he needed a vacation, but after five years of being dead, he figured he’d never earned one more. Unfortunately, while Phil was the first to agree with that conclusion (Phil, of course, having been at the front-of-the-line every time the subject of Fury taking a vacation came up) convincing him to leave planet Earth and take vacation in some other part of the galaxy was another matter.

“Can’t we just go to a beach?” Phil asked with uncharacteristic reluctance and his arms crossed. He’d been a little touchy since they’d both reformed from molecules in the middle of downtown New York; five years of an uncertain demise would do that to anybody. “Somewhere nice, like Tahiti?”

Fury glared half-heartedly at the suggestion, but Phil’s face might as well have been made of stone, and he didn’t move at all from his spot blocking Fury’s open suitcase. Not a purposeful reference to another old argument, then.

“If Tahiti is still nice after everything that’s happened, I’ll eat my eye patch,” Fury said. “And the airlines are overbooked trying to get everyone back where they go. We’re only getting to Tahiti if we swim there.”

“I always wanted to try marathon swimming,” Phil said blandly, and this time Fury aimed his gaze pointedly at the scar tissue hidden under Phil’s neat suit and tie. They both had their share of scars by this point, their seams and stitches and missing pieces; Fury was loathe to add any more to that count, but he knew that they would. Neither of them were particularly good at staying on the sidelines, even in situations where the battle _didn’t_ find them; sooner or later, they wouldn’t be lucky enough to get scars.

Fortunately, Fury had a plan for that. A plan that he needed his _husband_ to agree to.

“I thought we’d visit an old friend,” Fury said, “and she’s not in Tahiti.”

His curiosity at the statement was enough to get Phil to budge, but Fury somehow ended up packing his swim trucks anyway, just in case there was a beach somewhere along the way.

*

No matter how much he tried, Fury only ever seemed to meet Carol Danvers under the worst circumstances. First time, it was during an invasion, though not from the team they’d expected; after that, it was at a funeral of one of Earth’s greatest heroes, after a disaster-and-reversal that had devastated the planet both ways. While Fury was reluctant to say that the third time was the charm, he couldn’t say he blamed Carol for visibly tensing up when he called; they might’ve been friends who’d sent messages back and forth over the years, but calling on an official channel? That was sure to spell trouble.

All the bad things behind them were worth it, though, for the look on her face when Fury explained why he was calling: unmistakable relief, followed by shock.

“You want to get _married_?” She blinked at him in confusion, like she somehow thought the fact that she was functionally immortal and unchanging was something he should’ve caught. “To _Agent Coulson_?”

“Re-married, actually. For the third—no, the fourth time,” Fury corrected himself, remembering that Phil had already submitted the paperwork for the official re-license on Earth. Nobody beat Phil at efficiency, and no matter how much disarray the country clerk’s office had been in upon the return of so many people, it wasn’t a challenge to imagine them cowering in fear when faced with Phil’s neat pile of paperwork and officially reversed death certificates. “I just thought we’d try something a little more…permanent.”

The explanation—or maybe just the way Fury stumbled over the last word—made Carol smile.

“Sure, I’ve got something,” she said mildly, like the calm before a storm. “Talos mentioned it to you, I guess?”

“He did.” It was a longshot, Fury knew—to hear Talos tell it, it was a ritual that required full commitment from both parties, and sometimes it just didn’t work, not even when the circumstances were perfect. “Something about a moon and a ceremony.”

“The Moon of Ar’bath. Big romantic getaway, especially right now, but I can take you there if you want. Just answer me one question.” Her lips twitched, and somehow, Fury knew what was coming. “ _Does_ he call you ‘Fury?’”

Fury rolled his good eye and hung up on the sound of Carol laughing, but it was mostly for show and to hide his smile.

She’d figure out pretty soon that Coulson called him ‘Nick’ and ‘boss’ almost interchangeably, anyway, and Fury wanted to put that teasing off as long as he could.

*

They were in the ship for a little over half an hour before they hit the outer reaches of their solar system, and Phil hunched over in unmistakable pain. Fury was out of his seat as quickly as he could undo the buckle, and he called for Carol to stop even before he’d reached Phil’s side. He’d seen Phil when he was shot, stabbed, and dead, and Fury was relieved to say it didn’t look like any of that; if anything, it looked like stomach pain, with the way Phil had pressed his lips tightly together while his hand clutched at his middle.

“Phil?” Fury touched his forehead, just to be there. “What’s wrong?” An apology for pushing for this trip was already on the tip of his tongue, but Fury held it back; Phil would tell him if he wanted an apology. It was the cornerstone of every argument they’d ever had while they were together (well, when Fury was at fault, anyway.)

“It isn’t that,” Phil said; it clearly took effort to smile reassuringly, but he made it happen anyway. “Whatever alien I got spliced with a few years back, ah, doesn’t play nice with most of the species in the universe. I wasn’t expecting this, though—it’s like a damn electric boundary fence.”

“But you were expecting something,” Fury said, and he rocked back on his heels. He should’ve thought of that; he’d been the one who made the call to revive Phil with experimental alien DNA, after all, despite all the risks. “We can turn around. It was just an idea.”

“It was a good one,” Phil said, and the tension in his forehead eased a little bit. Age left creases in the skin below his hairline and under Fury’s fingertips, and the familiar feeling was as distracting as the twinkling blue of his eyes. 

When Phil’s hand came up to hold Fury’s, it was steady and cool, and determined. 

“If this sort of thing is possible, Nick, I’d want it with you. You know that.” He squeezed Fury’s hand. “If the worst part of it is a stomachache, I’ll count myself lucky.”

That was what Fury was afraid of, but he didn’t see the point of saying it. They were both very stubborn people, but if pressed, Fury would say Phil had the edge on that one; if they were going to turn around now, it wouldn’t be his decision alone.

“Let me know if it gets worse,” Fury said, and he sat back down, watching Phil all the while.

*

‘Worse’ was a relative term, and for the hours of their journey, Fury was pretty sure it never became anything Phil would consider ‘worse.’ It did change, however, from lightyear to lightyear; when the stomachache faded, it was replaced with a headache. When the headache left, his ears were ringing. When sound became normal again, Phil was so tired that he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

The entire thing left Fury about ready to jump out of his skin and he watched Phil’s chest move up and down in sleep with a focus that unnerved even him. He barely noticed when their ship stopped and landed until Carol put her hand on his shoulder. From this close, she smelled like ash and electricity, but that wasn’t the reason Fury jolted under her touch and rubbed his tired eye.

“We’re here,” she said, softly enough that Phil didn’t stir. “I’ve seen the ceremony a few times, and it doesn’t take long. I can tell them you’re ready, if you want.”

“Will it…hurt him?” Fury asked, and the words felt terrible in his mouth. This entire trip was supposed to give them certainty, a reassurance that—even if they scattered into dust again—they wouldn’t lose each other next time. It still wasn’t worth it, though, if it meant causing Phil pain again.

“I don’t know,” Carol said, with a bluntness that was almost comforting. “But that’s something for you and…Agent Coulson to talk about.” She paused. “Hey, when you got married the first time, did they pronounce you ‘Agent and Agent’?”

“No, and don’t you start,” Fury said, but the obvious diversion had done the trick. He took a deep breath and stood, his hand reaching already for Phil’s shoulder. “You can tell them we’ll either be ready in a few minutes or not at all.”

“Sure thing, Fury,” Carol said, and she ducked out the door before Phil even opened his eyes.

*

The ceremony took place inside the skull of an ancient being, and the structure was large enough that it could’ve easily fit a skyscraper inside it without touching the top. It was awe-inspiring even before Fury and Phil managed to stumble their way in and take their places in the crowd of a thousand or so other beings who had the same general idea. Carol hadn’t been wrong when she’d said it was a popular destination spot, and Fury doubted Talos had been wrong when he’d said that most people left disappointed; it was supposed to be a blessing, after all, though a blessing from _what_ , Fury couldn’t say.

“Nick,” Phil said quietly, and when Fury turned his way, he could tell that the same idea was crossing his mind: whether the ceremony worked or not, they wouldn’t be able to go back to their old jobs, where secrets were the basis of everything. There was simply no way to tell if another creature would be listening in; this whole thing was beyond their understanding, and they couldn’t risk it. 

_Is it worth it?_ something asked deep inside Fury, and the answer was: yes, of course it was. Everyone had to retire some day.

 _If you say so,_ was the response, and it sounded like a fond friend or an indulgent relative. It wasn’t a voice Fury had ever heard before, but he knew it instinctively, just like he knew it was time for him and Phil to approach the melting pot in the center of the skull, to gather and breathe deeply of the vibrant orange steam. A handful of others moved at the same time, but Fury didn’t pay them any attention; instead, he focused on the feeling of Phil’s hand in his. It had been familiar long before they’d ever gotten together, long before they’d been friends; Phil had held his hand while he was bleeding, once, and Fury couldn’t say why the memory came up now.

 _It’s all right,_ said the voice again, and Fury knew then: the skull they were standing inside wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t imagining the voice. The knowledge of both sent a chill up his spine, and his well-honed instincts for survival told him to leave now, before it was too late.

But Phil’s hand was there, and so were the memories. They flitted through his head so quickly that it was like watching a movie in fast-forward, too fast to discern anything about the actors involved, but Fury still knew they were of him and Phil at every stage of their lives. It was like someone wanted to compare and contrast the time Before Phil and the time After Phil, but that was nonsense: Fury’s life hadn’t been empty without Phil, even if it had been fuller ever since. If that wasn’t enough for whatever being was judging them now, then Fury would simply tell them to go to hell.

The voice laughed suddenly, high and mighty, and Fury felt warmth bloom in his chest. It was painful in a way, and Fury automatically tipped his head down and to the left, where Phil stood in his blind spot. Their lips met in a kiss that was as warm as it was significant. In the background, Fury could hear the chanting of the ceremony taking place; the realization that the ceremony had never mattered, only the voice, was an interesting one.

Not interesting enough, though, that Fury planned to stick around, and one look at Phil told him he was thinking the same thing. Aliens: after this, never again.

The voice didn’t seem to take it personally.

_Go now. Go together._

They did, and even as they sprinted outside and onto the soft gray surface of the moon, Fury could feel Phil somewhere inside his chest, a presence as sure as his own heart.


End file.
